


To Mend

by FireCrossed



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Pre-Canon, description of injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireCrossed/pseuds/FireCrossed
Summary: Iroh's decision to follow Zuko into his banishment had cemented one fact into his mind. It is not enough to silently disagree with the Fire Nation, to pat himself on the back and comfort himself with the thought that he’s somehow any less complicit just because he secretly disapproves.One week after Zuko's banishment, Iroh tries to help Zuko with his immediate injuries whilst also coming to terms with his own guilt.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	To Mend

**Author's Note:**

> The very first part of this fic is a letter that appears in the Legacy of the Fire Nation book that I literally cannot stop thinking about.

_Dear Uncle Iroh,_

_I am excited to see you soon. The Fire Festival is coming, and I want you to buy me a paper dragon. Mom says I should say please. If you buy me a paper dragon, I will say please. Deal? I like your jokes. Azula does not. She is not funny. You are. I hope you will come back from war battles soon and teach me more Pai Sho tricks. I like it when you are with me, Uncle. I like it when you come over. Please come._

_Zuko, age seven_

_P.S. I like paper dragons._

Iroh doesn’t need the letter in front of him to easily recall the words written in his nephew’s clumsy, unpracticed hand, a glimpse back into a time when the boy’s life was blessedly simpler, before Ozai had chance to warp him. Zuko’s letters were one of the only bright spots he can recall from his days aiding the war. The stuffy contents of piles upon piles of announcements and letters from officials long forgotten, but every one of Zuko’s short messages are remembered, forever ingrained in his mind. Lu Ten would enter his quarters with more of a spring in his step than usual and the two of them would share a laugh at Zuko’s childish wording, ‘war battles’ was a particular favourite at the time, but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth now.

He’d had all of the letters safely stored away in an often unused corner of the palace, though briefly Iroh wonders if he’ll ever be able to read through them again.

There hadn’t been any time to bring them. Zuko’s banishment had been barbarically quick, like the action of casting aside his son needed barely any time to think through on Ozai’s part. Iroh was still reeling from the events of the agni kai when the banishment had been announced, the boy hadn’t even been lucid when he’d been bustled onto the ship, eyes glazed and haunted with a mantra of apologies spilling from his lips in a voice barely there after so much screaming. He’d still thought that he was there in that arena, that his father was still in front of him and he could beg for forgiveness, completely unaware that Ozai had already abandoned him to the fate of chasing after a story. A story that had led them to the closest air temple as a starting point.

“What a stunning view.” It’s an understatement, it’s like nothing he’s ever seen before and he only wishes he had the words to do it justice. The Western Air Temple is a real wonder, a testament to the culture and creativity of the air nomads. Had it been even a few weeks earlier, he thinks his nephew would have been similarly awestruck.

Instead he only scoffs. “The only view I’m interested in seeing is the avatar in chains.” They’re cruel words to be leaving a child’s mouth, but he hasn't had the chance to be a child for years and the now familiar burn of self-hatred weighs heavily on his chest. It had first appeared after Lu Ten’s death, the initial shock had worn off and he was left with nothing but time to reflect on the consequences of his own warmongering. It’s what had instigated his own journey of self-discovery, years of travelling both the physical and spirit world, trying to find purpose beyond his role in the Fire Nation.

The places he’d seen, the people he’d met along the way, they’re fond memories that have since been laced with guilt. What had happened in the years he’d been gone? What had he allowed to happen? He barely even cared about Ozai’s questionable rise to the throne, he would have probably abdicated immediately if his younger brother had just thought to ask, too wracked with grief to even consider wanting to lead a country. Instead his brother’s rise to power had been underhanded, Ursa’s disappearance coinciding too perfectly with Azulon’s death. And the children. Subjected to years of living underneath his brother’s unrelenting will, the both of them twisted almost unrecognisably with no one to outrank Ozai and temper his demands. Azula has managed to survive thus far by retreating behind her firebending prowess, just about able to appease her father with her unprecedented progress.

But Zuko is different, always too open with his emotions to craft a mask as perfect as his sisters, not quite skilled enough to be unnoticed by his father and have the safety of being ignored. No, Ozai had noticed his son, and he’d found the young prince lacking. Is isn’t so much what Zuko had told him as much as it is what Iroh has pieced together from the plethora of years old scars marring his torso that he’d unfortunately discovered while he and the healers frantically scrambled to stop the burn from succumbing to infection. It was a rough day and night, themselves and their equipment rocked by vicious tides on the ship they’d been hastily thrown on without a second glance. The wound is still far from healed, very much in need of debridement and still terrifyingly likely to become infected, but Zuko’s taken to snapping and threatening anyone who tries to help him redress it. He shouldn’t be standing, he shouldn’t be shouting orders, he shouldn’t be here, cursed to look for the avatar. But he is, and all because Iroh had let him into that war meeting.

“Prince Zuko,” His nephew’s unbandaged ear tilting ever so slightly towards him is the only indication he gets that the boy has heard him. “it’s only been a week since your banishment. You should take some time to heal and rest.”

The fiery, snapped back response he gets is no real surprise to him anymore, though it certainly had been the first few times. Zuko’s rage is new, but not unexpected. How else can he expect a boy to react to the shock he’s gone through? He knows the answer to this though, it comes to him quickly whenever he thinks about it. Zuko should be healing, he should feel that he has someone he can talk to to begin the process of trying to rebuild his shattered life. Zuko doesn’t trust him. It’s a fact that had punched him in the gut harder than any earthbender can hurl rock the first time he’d flinched away from Iroh’s help, his one visible eye glaring at him in a way that looked threatening but Iroh could see the fear behind it.

He hadn’t been about to reprimand Zuko, even if the boy had flinched back as if scolded. He’d only wanted to check his nephew’s grievous wound. The healers had only been ordered to stay aboard long enough to ensure Zuko didn’t fall victim to his immediate injuries and bring down the Fire Lord’s reputation. Whether or not he falls to infection afterwards is apparently not something Ozai deems important enough to worry about, after all any death outside of public view can simply be attributed to a tragic loss at sea.

Iroh is no full-fledged healer, not by a long shot, nevertheless he’s spent long enough at war to know how to get by. But Zuko simply won’t accept his help, had startled away so violently the first time he’d tried that his nephew had ended up cowering against the wall in his quarters, trembling but looking as if he could lash out at him like a cornered pygmy puma at any second. Medication for the excruciating pain he must be in is always refused, the only reason why Iroh had managed to pull from Zuko is that he truly believes he should shoulder the pain as a part of his punishment.

And why wouldn’t he believe that? His father had told him as such and no one had stood against him as a voice of reason.

Not even Iroh, who liked to believe he was a changed man after his days as an active general. What a joke that he’d learned the ways of the Order of the White Lotus, had vowed to himself that he would seek a way to look for peace, only for him to return to the Fire Nation and say nothing in the meeting when that inhuman plan was proposed. It would have been in his right to speak up, he was still a respected general, but he hadn’t, and instead a child had stood when he didn’t. A child who had trusted him, who had collapsed to his knees in front of his father, tears spilling from his eyes, his cries for forgiveness calling out for his father, for anyone, to put an end to that cruel joke. Maybe he’d hoped that Iroh would stop his younger brother.

But instead he’d looked away. Just as he’d spent most of his life looking away from the atrocities his own nation was committing, he’d looked away as a child was mutilated by the very person who should always protect him.

His decision to follow Zuko into his banishment had cemented one fact into his mind. It is not enough to silently disagree with the Fire Nation, to pat himself on the back and comfort himself with the thought that he’s somehow any less complicit just because he secretly disapproves. To be in a position of such power and to not even be able to say anything to stop just one child from being scarred by the Fire Nation - even he doesn’t possess the words to describe his own shame.

So he will do something. He’ll steer his nephew on the path he wishes he’d taken as a much younger man, try to subtly push him into realising the errors of his forefathers without outright admitting to treason.

Before any of that though, he needs Zuko to trust in him enough to let him treat his injury without expecting his own uncle to have some sort of ulterior motive.

It’s slow going, searching such unfamiliar architecture room by room, but he’d be lying if he were to say he didn’t find it interesting to study. Gigantic carvings of female airbenders adorn the corridors and he thinks he can recall reading an old scroll describing the Western Air Temple as being populated by women, though he assumes that perhaps all children were welcome in any of the temples. It really is such a crime that even the most basic knowledge has been lost. Zuko for the most part has attempted to feign disinterest in anything that isn’t the avatar’s possible location. Still, Iroh had to resist grinning and raising an eyebrow when Zuko had asked just a few too many questions about how the temple could have been built to look as peculiar as it does for him to have no interest at all.

“My now, I could be quite happy here.” He brushes some more of the long built-up dust off of the giant Pai Sho table, smiling in approval at the sheer level of craftsmanship etched into every detail.

“We’re here on a mission.” Zuko hisses. “Stop trying to waste time with such useless things.”

_I hope you will come back from war battles soon and teach me more Pai Sho tricks._ He blinks, trying to clear his head of the echoes of his nephew’s past self. Zuko’s glaring at him from the doorway, frame slumped and breathing a little too heavy and strained to be right. It only makes him more eager to look over his injury. Unless Zuko has been regularly changing the bandages over his burn himself – and Iroh’s fairly confident that he hasn’t – then they’re days overdue to be checked, a fact that fills him with concern but he’s quick to school himself, simply nodding and following his nephew out of the room.

Unfortunately, he can’t just ask Zuko whether he’s feeling alright. He’s much to dedicated to sulky stomping to admit defeat, and being direct would only scare him off, skittish as he is underneath his brash disguise. Instead he has to resign himself to following along as they explore, though he’s not exactly much help when it comes to looking for clues on the avatar’s whereabouts – not that he has any faith that they’ll be able to find him. They wouldn’t be the first to try and fail, the only real challenge is getting his nephew to give up before he wastes his entire life in such an impossible task.

Years of inaction have done nothing to keep his muscles primed, he’s certainly starting to feel the strain of the hike and can only imagine how tiring this must be with such a deep and unhealed wound. “Perhaps we should retire for the day.” He suggests, trying to keep his tone neutral. “We can continue tomorrow.”

Zuko barely turns to look at him, but Iroh can feel a nerve being struck in the flair of heat he senses from him. “The sun won’t set for another hour.” Iroh expects him to make another quip about him being the ‘laziest man in the Fire Nation’ but instead he sounds… off, smaller beneath the armour that only contrasts with his youth in a stunningly grotesque way. It’s as if his anger is finally starting to peter out, at least for the time being.

“Prince Zuko, we have all the time in the world, we can afford to stretch out our search.” He’s getting a bad feeling about the heat he can still feel from the boy in front of him, but to say anything that sounds evenly vaguely like an accusation of weakness will only push Zuko away.

“How can you say that?!” The anger’s back, hands clenching at his sides, tremors wracking through them that he tries to hide. “We need to find a lead.”

“We’ll start again tomorrow.” His steps are quick, giving Zuko no time to duck away before he places a comforting hand on the armour padding out his shoulder. For all Zuko tries to push him away with hurled insults, flinching when reached for, he doesn’t move away when Iroh does manage to touch him. Once he’s had a few seconds to process that he’s not about to be hurt he actually relaxes, if anything he presses into the comforting touch, as if his body overrides his anger with its need for comfort. It breaks Iroh’s heart but he tries not to dwell on it too much, if only to stop himself spiraling down another road of self-pity.

“There’s still more to search-”

“A temple this size is not a one day job.” He says, effectively cutting off any complaints. “It will take at least a few more to ensure we haven’t missed any hidden rooms.” Zuko won’t meet his gaze when he manoeuvers him to turn and face the way they’d come from. “Come, if we start now we can get back to the ship before sunset.”

To his credit the young prince does a good job of rivalling anyone Iroh’s ever met in his stubbornness, eye plastered to the ground, breath a sharp, angry exhale when he turns to go back. He’d be disappointed in himself for making Zuko so angry if his disappointment wasn’t utterly eclipsed by the relief of knowing that he’s all the closer to finally getting Zuko to rest for more than a minute. It’s not a good idea to try and make idle chitchat, not when he knows how volatile the teen’s moods can be right now. Zuko’s anger had once always been righteous and with good reason, but as of late that fact has changed into a rage triggered by the smallest implication of fragility. How one single event can mark such a drastic change in a person’s character will always baffle him. More than that it dispirits him to think of how long it will take to try and find any semblance of normalcy – maybe not normalcy in its traditional sense, nothing will ever be as it was, but perhaps it will be possible for them to find a new normal similar to the new normal that had to be carved out after Lu Ten’s death.

The long slog back is made easier with the prospect of rest, and Iroh’s knees stop complaining so much when even Zuko’s pace starts to falter, angry storming levelling out to a normal walk. It would be quite pleasant if he wasn’t so busy thinking about how to approach the delicate situation of Zuko’s injury. At the very least he knows he won’t be able to bring it up in front of the crew, at least not successfully, if he wants Zuko to actually take him up on the offer of checking the wound. Not that the crew aren’t equally wary about it, it’s not unusual for Zuko’s sleep to be filled with pained noises and by now many of the crew have overheard them if their path happens to cross the prince’s quarters in the early morning.

By the time they arrive back the sun is a mere sliver on the horizon, the crew lazing tiredly after filling their stomachs, content to sit back and make idle chitchat with one another. There’s not much else for them to do before they retire for the night, so a few of them have taken to playing card games on the deck and Iroh would join them immediately if he wasn’t so eager for a full meal. Despite their limited provisions he’s definitely had worse food and he practically inhales the meal he’s given by the ship’s cook. The thought passes him that Zuko hadn’t joined him to get some food. He half hopes he’s seen some reason and is resting in his quarters, though of course that’s too optimistic and he isn’t anywhere to be seen in his room when Iroh checks, leaving the deck as the only option.

There’s an art to looking casual – Zuko fails at it catastrophically. Wherever he goes the crew parts around him like a shoal of fish avoids a shark, so it’s not exactly hard to spot him where he’s leaning against the ship’s rail.

He turns away, endeavoring to find some way to occupy his time with the crew and give his nephew some time to decompress before he starts prodding him about checking the injury. Crewman Goro is easy enough to tempt into a short card game, and he quickly loses himself in the almost meditative monotony that comes with it, his mind able to use the soothing drone that comes with playing a friendly opponent to focus elsewhere and take inventory of everything he'll need later. He really wishes he'd taken more time to study under a healer or at least bring some sort of book with the most basic concoctions, perhaps he'll buy one the next time they reach a port so that none of the crew are ever taken by surprise by an illness. Even with his limited knowledge he's at least fairly confident he knows the correct dosage of herbs to make a quick draught that can easily be disguised as tea, although the more he thinks about lying to Zuko about the teas contents the more he discovers that there's no way he'll be able to deceive him. Their relationship rests on a trust that is fragile enough as it is, he will not unknowingly drug him even if it's for his benefit.

There’s the sharp sound of a throat clearing behind him, a gruff voice startling him out of his contemplation. “Sir,”

It seems the crew are becoming aware of his nephew’s predicament. Lieutenant Jee jerks his head in Zuko’s direction in what is apparently supposed to be a subtle gesture, one eyebrow raised at how the Prince’s form has started to sag with exhaustion and Iroh is quick to rest his cards face down, raising an eyebrow at Goro in an expression that says 'I'll know if you cheat' before he's rising to his feet to approach Zuko.

He doesn’t mean to accidentally sneak up on him, but that’s apparently what happens if the small flinch in Zuko’s shoulder when he lays a hand on him is anything to go by.

“Prince Zuko, why don’t you return to your quarters and meditate.” He offers, giving the boy a ‘legitimate’ reason to leave rather than forcing him to admit fatigue in front of the crew. “It will help to rebuild the foundation for your training.” It's a relief when Zuko actually listens to him, pausing a moment to look as if he’s considering the merit of the words before stalking back to his quarters. He wants to follow after his nephew immediately, but that might just give the crew more to be suspicious about, he’d already caught more crew members than just Lieutenant Jee skeptically eyeing the way the boy was swaying.

Goro looks for a moment as if he might say something when Iroh sits down to continue their card game, but evidently he thinks better of it with a shake of his head and they settle into the act of pretending that Iroh isn’t going to easily win, trading an easy back and forth between plays.

When it’s late enough for the dusk light to make reading the cards in his hand hard on the eyes he knows he’s waited long enough to give Zuko time to settle into his meditations. It’s a quick journey to his own quarters to put together the dry ingredients for the tea he needs to brew and strategically place medical supplies in an inconspicuous box that blends in with the rest of the set, then an even shorter walk to where Zuko’s quarters are located.

The door is just ever so slightly ajar when he arrives, and when he knocks he sees how the light from the candles in the room is unceremoniously snuffed out in surprise. Zuko somehow looks even worse than before when he pulls the door open further to let him, the dark circle under his visible eye an ugly contrast to the flush rising on his face, if it’s a fever Iroh can only hope it’s not connected to a dangerous infection, though with his nephew’s luck a life-threatening fever is just the next blockade to push through.

“How did your meditation go, Prince Zuko?” He asks casually as he enters though he doesn’t expect an answer and doesn’t get one other than Zuko’s glare deepening. He shuffles in to place the tea set and the few boxes he’d brought with him onto the small low table in the centre of the room, sitting down with some protest from his joints. Zuko frowns when he sees the tea set but he nevertheless moves to sit on the opposite side of him, lowering down as he watches Iroh retrieving all the right ingredients, a quick flick of his fingers lighting the tinder underneath the pot. He doesn't have the capacity to make small talk with the boy in front of him as he makes the tea, the timing of introducing the ingredients takes up all his concentration, after all he doesn't want Zuko to get even more ill.

Ozai might make snide remarks but his nephew is not stupid and it's obvious that he's realised that there's something more to Iroh's visit, eye furrowed as it flits from his hands as they manipulate the temperature of the liquid to his face as if he's trying to figure it from clues alone. His expression only becomes more suspicious when Iroh supplies a single cup, placing it down on the table and carefully pouring some of the bitter smelling liquid in, he's definitely not envious of Zuko for having to stomach it. He's surprised when Zuko actually takes the offered cup, but he pauses before he even begins to lift it towards his mouth.

“There’s something in this, isn’t there.” It’s a question but his tone is ominously flat, and Iroh really can’t bring himself to lie if he wants to build a foundation of honesty.

“Yes.” Zuko makes a face and moves to put the cup down on the table between them, but Iroh grasps his forearm and nudges the cup back towards him. “Zuko, please.”

“What is it?” It’s a good sign that he hasn’t moved to put the tea down again, but Iroh still has visions of him spilling it out of spite if his temper's triggered.

“Something that will numb any pain and make you sleep.” There’s a small battle flashing in Zuko’s visible eye, obviously arguing back and forth within himself, before he hesitantly brings the cup to his lips, grimacing at the bitter taste that hits his tongue. It’s a slow process, Iroh himself knows that the taste of the tea leaves a lot to be desired, but he does eventually finish it, putting the cup back down gently and sitting back as if he’s expecting the effects to be immediate.

There’s nothing to do but wait for the tea to take effect, Zuko had refused his offer of a quick Pai Sho game so they’re left watching each other from across the table, Zuko not unlike a cornered animal while Iroh watches for signs of the medicines effects. He knows it’s happening when the eye glaring at him begins to lose focus a little, Zuko’s body slumping forward a little with the effort of sitting up.

“I really do need to check your injury.” He expects another swift refusal to join all the others the boy has thrown at him but Zuko finally looks ready to give in, which is probably not a good omen of the state of the wound.

It takes a few seconds for Zuko to process his words, which Iroh takes as a sign that he'd managed to make the tea successfully. “...Fine.” Iroh moves carefully, even under the influence of such a powerful medicine he wouldn't be surprised if Zuko's rage managed to power through to the surface, as it is though the boy barely reacts when he moves around the table to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"You should lay down, you'll need to sleep off the treatment when we're finished." He has to half drag Zuko to help him over to the futon, his limbs have become clumsy and slow to respond but he doesn't voice any objection, only glares at Iroh uneasily when he quickly gathers his equipment and returns to kneel over him, one hand moving to steady his head while the other edges closer to the bandages covering his left eye. 

Even with the medicine taking effect Zuko still flinches under him at the sensation of the bandage unsticking from the burn, eyebrow furrowing with the effort to keep any visible discomfort at bay. His visible eye is closed now, whether in pain or just so he doesn’t have to look at Iroh’s reaction when he finally manages to remove the bandages entirely, a process that takes longer than it should due to the fresh blood sticking the inner layers together and he takes a breath to steel himself before the starts to peel back the final layer, wincing each time the material catches on the raw burn. 

Iroh barely has any time to really react to the sight of Zuko’s face before the unmistakable smell of infection hits him and he has to use all of his previous training as Crown Prince to not let his expression show any shock or worry. It's... a horrific sight honestly, a wound he'd expect to see on a soldier retreating from a front line, not a thirteen year old child. 

He tries not to think about it too much as he sets about debriding the burn, careful as he cleans around the area where Zuko's left ear had been, it's been deformed beyond repair and he can only hope that the damage is only superficial and doesn't reach too much deeper. His eye is the biggest concern, especially when Iroh realises he can't clearly make out whether the lid has begun fusing together as the skin tries to heal over itself.

“Can you try to open this eye for me?” He asks gently, giving Zuko what he hopes is a comforting smile when his undamaged eye opens to look at him hazily, then looks through him entirely as he evidently tries to open his left eye. It's a slow, patient process, coaxing Zuko back from the deep daze the medication is taking him to to encourage him to keep trying until the lid finally separates enough for Iroh to see that - thankfully - his eye still looks largely undamaged. He can't see the extent of it, lid far too swollen to make out anything more than a small slit that will probably not recede back to its original size when the burn scars over, but at the very least it doesn't look like it's succumbed to infection, though Iroh is going to have to make sure that Zuko doesn't leave this room for at least the next few days, maybe even the next week, to make sure the infection doesn't spread any deeper. Hopefully, now that he's been allowed to clean it once, his nephew won't be so reluctant to let him help again. An infection is still an infection, as evident from the heat radiating off of Zuko in waves, and he knows there's a good chance that Zuko won't be in any state of mind to be seen by the crew tomorrow. The crew's reaction is the least of Iroh's worries, but he knows how sensitive his nephew is about looking vulnerable, so he endeavors to limit their involvement with the healing. 

It doesn't take him too long to finish cleaning the rest of the wound, thankfully Zuko's much too sedated to feel any pain when he debrides the dead tissue around it and there's a good chance he won't remember much of what's happened once the tea wears off. He bandages it lightly, giving it chance to breathe compared to the previous heavy layers, then stands to clear the used equipment away. He doesn't get chance to go far before he hears shuffling and a groggy voice call out to him.

“Are you staying here?” _I like it when you are with me, Uncle._ It's the quietest he's heard his nephew's voice for some time and he rushes to discard the equipment before he's returning to where Zuko's trying to sit up.

"Yes, don't worry," He shushes him as he gently pushes him back down to rest, slowly dragging the blanket back over him. "rest now, you need to focus on healing." 

For a moment Zuko looks like he might say more before he stops trying, or rather the medication drags him back down and makes talking far too much effort so instead he reaches out until he can grasp at Iroh's robe as if trying to convince himself that he's still there. He isn't able to hold onto consciousness for much longer, and as soon as Iroh takes the offered hand between his own he finally succumbs to sleep.

It's hard to look at Zuko's face as he sleeps, expression open and relaxed and a harsh reminder that he's only a child. Iroh doesn't dare move and disturb the peace of the scene, the only movement he permits himself is to let his thumb stroke comfortingly over the back of Zuko's hand even if Zuko's much to deep in sleep to feel anything from it, still it gives him hope that with all his guard down he still wants Iroh here with him. With all his bluster it would be easy to believe that his nephew doesn't want him here, but Iroh's more than capable of seeing through his facade and he quietly vows to himself that whenever Zuko needs him, he'll be there.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a LONG time so I'm sorry if this reads a little wonky in some areas   
> I'm on Tumblr (same name) if anyone wants to brainrot over an ATLA hyperfixation


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